


paracosm

by kay_okay



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Rain, TATINOF, TATINOF US, Thunderstorms, Tour Bus, Touring, really this is some self indulgent fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 00:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7336744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_okay/pseuds/kay_okay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you ever regret doing this? The book, the tour? All of it?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	paracosm

**Author's Note:**

> rain always makes people all contemplative. dan and phil are no different. 
> 
>  
> 
> title and lyrics included lifted from "paracosm" by washed out. oh, and thanks phil for the idea.
> 
> this is a work of fiction. this is a fictional story about fictional representations of real people. none of the events are true. no profit was made from this work. unbetaed, all mistakes are my own.

_we're far away from it all, inside  
we're all alone tonight, you and i_

*

 **@AmazingPhil:** Eating froyo and watching an epic thunderstorm from the bus!  
_8:34 PM - 28 May 2016_

 

“You look… pensive.”

Phil puts his phone down and regards Dan peering into his frozen yogurt cup, one side of his upper lip curled slightly farther than the other. “I’m regretting mixing taro and peanut butter.”

The bus had been stopped for a grand total of about five minutes when Dan got antsy, putting his dying phone in his pocket with one hand and grabbing Phil’s jumper sleeve with the other as he hopped off. Luckily they were stalled across the street from a mini-mall, a strange amalgamation of storefronts that consisted of a Chinese fast food restaurant, a car insurance business, an odd-looking store with bars over the windows that sold only imitation leather handbags ( _Definitely a front for a drug dealer,_ Dan whispered into Phil’s ear who swatted him away), and a frozen yogurt shop, the only thing open this time of night.

Ten minutes later they’d filled up large cups with swirly goodness, Phil going for three kinds of dessert-flavored soft serve and a teaspoon’s worth of every crumbled cookie topping on the counter and Dan going for his aforementioned taro and peanut butter concoction. He hadn’t taken a bite on the walk back to the bus, and now back in their bed and in his pyjamas he looked mildly distressed.

Dan twirls his plastic spoon around in half circles, gummy bears and white chocolate chips moving aside to reveal a sickly, tan-and-purple mixture coagulating in the bottom of his cup. 

Phil looks over the top of his glasses. “Well, when you mix it up like that it looks like something you chucked in the toilet after drinking too much.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Phil, really,” and Dan doesn’t usually have the weaker stomach of the two but he looks a little green, resolutely popping a yellow gummy bear free from the Frankensteined frozen yogurt mixture in his mouth. Phil just sucks on his spoon and smiles.

A bright flash of light illuminates the bus cabin, like a camera flash just outside the vented blinds of their slightly-ajar window. Dan whips his head around to Phil, eyes wide. “What the hell was -- ”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish as a loud crack of thunder interrupts him, and Phil yelps. “Thunder!”

“Well, obviously Phil -- ” Dan starts witheringly and another clap of thunder cuts him off. 

“See, even the Gods think you’re being rude,” Phil says smugly, pushing his glasses up his nose as the sound of torrential rain hits the roof of the bus.

*

Their driver had shouted towards their bedroom that he was waiting on a mechanic, about half an hour until they were back on the road.

“It sounds like it’s really coming down out there,” Dan says after a while. 

They listen, the last of their yogurt disappearing slowly. There’s a slight chill seeping through the low AC in the vents, and eventually they end up under their blanket, comfortably pressed up all along one side. It’s quiet, save for the sound of the rain pounding against the top of their bus, like pebbles showering down angrily handful after handful. It’s oddly calming, a white noise that Dan drinks in greedily. He puts his empty dish on the nightstand, tugs his sweater paws down and pulls Phil closer to him with one arm.

Phil slurps another spoonful, contemplative. “You’re grabby tonight,” he comments innocently.

“Maybe I feel like it.” Dan wiggles a little bit, in spite of himself, and Phil hides his smile against his spoon again.

When he’s done, Phil puts his empty yogurt cup aside, leans forward across their bed and pulls up the blinds strung across the long window facing the dark mini-mall. It’s pitch black outside now, shops across the street long-closed, and with the lights off in the back bedroom it’s safe to assume no one can see in. Dan quietly protests only for a moment, but it’s just a handful of seconds before Phil’s back in his arms, once again tucked under the same blanket.

Hands free now, Phil sidles up and presses in, pulls the blanket up to his shoulder when he slings an arm around Dan’s waist. “Now who’s grabby,” he hears Dan mutter above him, but Phil only nuzzles his nose firmer against Dan’s chest like a cat, practically purring when the soft pads of Dan’s fingers find the back of Phil’s neck like he likes so much. 

Phil tugs his glasses off and hands them to Dan, who wordlessly leans over and sets them on the nightstand. Dan finds a rhythm with his fingers, and Phil’s eyes start to drift closed to the smooth, rolling beat.

“It sounds like London,” Dan comments quietly, and Phil feels himself stir. He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep for a moment, the bent knuckles on Dan’s hand still working into the soft spot at the base of Phil’s head. Phil glances up, watching as Dan looks out the bus window, the rain coming down in sheets.

Phil doesn’t say anything at first, because when Dan gets that tone of voice he usually has more on his mind. He waits, watching Dan’s eyes move back and forth as they trace the outlines of the raindrops in the streetlights.

“Do you miss home?” Phil asks after a while, and his hand finds the threaded seam at the bottom of Dan’s T-shirt, thin cotton that still lets him feel Dan’s body heat below. It’s a comforting feeling.

“Of course. Every day,” Dan says. “I miss my family and our friends. I miss our bed and our couch and watching Anime regularly and gaming on a reliable internet connection.” Phil chuckles.

“I miss your family,” Dan says after a beat.

Phil misses his family too, immensely, way more than he thought he would. He’s lucky to have Martyn here, and Cornelia too, but hadn’t realized how big a part his parents were in his every day life. And even after six years, he sometimes forgets, takes for granted how big a part they are of Dan’s life, too.

He waits a long time before he asks. Part of him thinks he shouldn’t ask because there’s a 50% chance it’s an answer he doesn’t want to hear, won’t know how to handle if he does hear it. So he says it as quiet as possible, ear trained into Dan’s heart rate beneath his ribcage, thumb and forefinger working small, worried circles into that T-shirt hem.

“Do you ever regret doing this? The book, the tour? All of it?”

There’s only a slight moment of panic when Phil feels Dan move out from under him, but it ebbs when Dan’s hand cradles the back of Phil’s neck, laying him down on the pillow. Dan turns on his side to face Phil, crowds into his space as his other hand lays across Phil’s opposite cheek, pulling him in and softly pressing their lips together.

Phil draws in a breath, the hand that anxiously tugged at the hem of the shirt slides up underneath it, face instantly flushing with heat. He loves it when Dan gets in close, passionate and single-minded with his kissing, and Phil answers back as Dan licks across the seam of Phil’s lips, his hands loosening when Phil lets him in. 

They're not sweet for long but it's still soft and deep, Phil sliding his hands around Dan’s trim waist and tugging him close, flush against Phil’s body. Phil presses his hips in as they kiss, leg sliding between Dan’s, little hums against Phil’s mouth music to his ears when Dan gets too worked up. Dan breaks away, panting, mouth kissing down Phil’s cheek and chin. 

“Never,” Dan murmurs a reply to an almost-forgotten question, mouth hot against the soft skin of Phil’s neck, “I've never regretted anything we've done together.” 

And they've had moments like this before, both of them at this level, doubtful and unsure and wading in low self-esteem, the other one there to hold them and show them and remind them. But for some reason this declaration hits Phil harder than normal and he sifts his hands into Dan’s hair, tugs his head up until their lips meet again. 

“Love you, love you,” Dan promises into Phil’s bare chest when the shirt’s cleared his head. The rain seems to pour harder against their roof and Phil hears a rumble in the distance.

“I love you too,” Phil murmurs between kisses, holds Dan’s face against his with one hand, the other making quick work of grabbing the back of Dan’s collar and pulling until he’s free from the cotton. “Even when you taste like a disgusting combination of taro and peanut butter.”

Dan barks out a laugh and leans down to kiss him again, moves until they’re pressed together like one, lit up by lightning.


End file.
